


What I see not, I better see

by Thingwthfeathers



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Meet-Cute, Socially Awkward Ben Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 08:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14765762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thingwthfeathers/pseuds/Thingwthfeathers
Summary: Ben finds that his dad’s old Trans Am really is a piece of junk, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing, like when he finds himself watching a cute mechanic sticking out from under it.





	What I see not, I better see

**Author's Note:**

> New to writing, less new to fandom. Hope you enjoy.

He had been raised better than this.

Much better, he thought, then blatantly staring at the long, shapely legs currently sticking out from under the engine of the greyish ’79 Trans Am in a garage in whatever middle of nowhere town he’s marooned himself in.

And yet, somehow he’s found that his half-remembered cotillion lessons and a lifetime of listening to his mother’s fiery feminism did little to more than provide the barest niggling sense of shame as he greedily took in the sight before him.

He really didn’t think much of the garage, Plutt’s Auto. Beyond its unfortunate location, the place was basically a step above being a junkyard. And clearly the management cared little for its workers, allowing them to dress in denim cutoffs rather than a sturdy pair of coveralls, even if said jeans were modestly cut to just a bit above the knee. It hardly seemed in keeping with OSHA guidelines anyway.

He watched as a small, gloved hand wandered out from under the chassis, feeling around for one of the various tools strewn around the jacks holding the car up. He didn’t see if she found what she needed, his gaze already wandering back down to admire her shapely knees. Her legs were bare from the where her shorts ended. He could see a slight tan line mid-thigh, just under the bottom hem of the denim. His gaze traveled further down until he could glimpse slim ankles peeking out of a pair of well-worn Doc Martens. The warped brown leather of her boots was scuffed, clearly worn and weak in places; she didn’t even have them laced up, rather the tops of them hung loose, tongues falling forward as she tipped her toes upwards and heels backwards in order to slide further under the car’s chassis. A pair of mismatched ankle socks could also be seen through the slouched openings.

Vague sounds of tools and tinkering could be heard from below the car, maybe even some muttered words but most of it was muffled, and he couldn’t make out most of what she was saying beyond a few words.

A bloody mess, this— 

He was pretty sure he heard a bit of a British accent though.

While the door to the auto bay was wide open, the cramped waiting area didn’t catch much in the way of sounds from the other side, even as he stood by the large window looking out into the garage next to it. 

Across from him he could see a heavyset man, whose massive frame took up almost the entire service window, his small eyes shifted between Ben and his car. Clearly the Trans Am was well past its prime, rust spots and dents giving its body a pock-marked appearance; cracked interiors were easily seen through the windows and of course the horrendous engine noise that was the entire reason for his visit. While the car hardly looked worth the inspection fee, his well-tailored business suit probably still made him an appealing customer.

He really shouldn’t have accepted that damn car to begin with, but he was trying to start over, with everything. But really, it had been nothing but trouble for his entire life. His fingers absentmindedly drifted to his jacket pocket, searching out the golden chain that normally would hang off the back view mirror.

He sighed. He dropped the dice back into the depths of his pocket. Served him right for lustily staring at some girl’s legs. His father’s luck was more often a curse than a blessing. Especially when he lacked the easy charm to go with it.

He turned back and sat heavily onto one of the fraying vinyl seats, and grabbed the first outdated magazine from the pile on the small side table next to him. Anything to distract him from the inevitable repair bill for the damned car and the lovely body currently under it.

“You know, she’d be a real beauty if you’d clean her up a bit.”

He was startled from his contemplation of January’s edition of Golf Digest, and his gaze swept towards the door to his left leading to the garage. 

Rolled out on mechanic’s creeper was the rest of the world’s most beautiful legs.

“I almost wrote it off as a total banger at first,” she said and gave a charming laugh at his blank stare and clarified, “I think your car is basically hunk of garbage.”

Shit. Is he supposed to be insulted? Because he isn’t, not in the slightest, rather he is enraptured by the chiming sound of her voice.

“But I deal with rubbish every day and I’ve gotten pretty good at seeing the potential in something, when it’s there.”

He should be saying words, he thinks, but he doesn’t really seem to remember what words or even how to work his jaw at the moment, because his brain is otherwise occupied trying to process the image before him.

She’s reclined on the creeper, rolling her heels, knees bent almost parallel in order to slide herself out from under the car. Half tucked into her jean shorts is an oversized plaid shirt; it appears to be red, but is covered in oil and engine grease, so it’s hard to tell. The buttons are only done up half way up her sternum, the rest is open to an equally grimy V-neck undershirt. He didn’t give a damn about the state of her clothing though, because he was focused on her delicate collar bones which he can see above the undershirt, which led to a gracefully long neck and the most adorable heart-shaped face he’s ever seen. 

Her chin was narrow, and above that, the sweet bow of her pink lips and her high cheekbones were infused with a healthy ruddiness that spoke to her either the lack of air conditioning in the garage or the effort she exerts fixing cars. Her chestnut hair is pulled back loosely from her face and what looks like a tire pressure stick is perched jauntily behind an ear. Her large eyes danced, framed by the faint imprint of the work goggles that she’d pulled up on top of her head. He couldn’t quite make out their color from where he sat, but he felt a very strong urge to move closer to find out.

Except in that moment he realized he’d been ogling her for probably a full minute without opening his damn mouth.

“Um. Yeah.” He was nothing if not smooth... 

He made to stand, but the man at the service window began barking at the girl to give him the diagnosis so he could write up an estimate. Her humor faded a bit as she pulled herself up and Ben shook his head, trying to focus on why he still even drives his dad’s old beater to begin with.

There is a bit of an argument it appears, behind the service counter, in the office. The toad-like man is yelling at the girl, though about what he can’t tell. He hears a few loud bangs, and then the sound of a door slamming, and then the man is back, heaving himself back into the chair behind the counter.

“It’ll be $50 for the assessment.” He barks. “My mechanic can’t find the problem.” He sounds furious at this outcome, and Ben really doubts the sounds the car was making were not without an obviou cause, but he knew next to nothing about engines and hadn’t really been thinking clearly since he caught sight of those long tan legs and he really should just cut his losses and leave. So he writes a check and heads out into the garage to collect his keys from the girl.

At first he doesn’t see a sign of her, but then he hears a soft whistle and follows the sound to the back of the bay where the she stands, eyeing him cautiously.

“Just so you know,” she says hurriedly, “Plutt’s a bloody fraudster, and he’ll absolutely gouge you over what are basically some bad spark plugs.”

“Well.” This was useful information, but he doesn’t care about the money necessarily, “I still need to fix the plugs?” He’s really not sure what to do about this; he supposes he should find another garage in the city-

“You don’t fix spark plugs, you replace them.” Her eyes are laughing at him again, but he doesn’t mind. “I can give you a hand with that mate. Just come back around after closing, like 8-ish and I’ll have her right as rain again.” Her hand is holding out the keys. He reluctantly takes them. Her warm fingers brush his, and he jolts a bit, feeling a spark of something. Static shock, he thinks.

“Very kind of you.” He’s lost again. “Uh, so how much for your services then?” Shit. Shit. Shit. It was better when he was at a loss for words.

“Just the cost of the plugs, so I can account for them later,” Then she sighs and looks fondly at the dented fender of his car. “I have a soft spot for the classics, especially ones that have had a rough life.”

He wonders if it is wrong to feel jealousy towards a car. He finds he doesn’t care. He’ll be back, if for no other reason than to see this girl again.

“Then I’ll be back this evening.” He sticks out his hand, really to shake on their deal. “Ben. I’m Ben Solo.”

Her tool-callused hand is small and surprisingly fragile feeling, though her grip is strong.

“Hi Ben. I’m Rey.” Her smile is as warm and sunny as her name.


End file.
